


On Tilt

by 13th_blackbird



Category: Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018), Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Banter, Blow Jobs, Confidence Games, Gambling, Hand Jobs, Insults, M/M, Rivals to Lovers, Strip Poker, constant one-upmanship, fashion - Freeform, han and lando calling each other baby is my kink apparently, the millennium falcon is the silent third in the threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 16:43:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14773355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13th_blackbird/pseuds/13th_blackbird
Summary: The only sure thing about luck is that it will change.Han and Lando understand this about the world—and each other. No hard feelings, right?—“You want to play?” Han says, nodding at the cards, before he can think better of it. “Or are you just showing off?”“Can’t it be both?” Lando says. He shuffles again, his fingers dancing over the cards too quickly for Han to make sure he’s not palming any of them. “Stakes?”“I’m broke,” Han admits. “And I know you are, too.” And before Lando can propose putting up the Falcon again, Han grins as a plan takes shape. “They say clothes make the man. Wanna bet on it?”





	On Tilt

**Author's Note:**

> [On tilt:](https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=on%20tilt)
> 
>  
> 
> To gamble recklessly and aggressively after a bad or improbable beat or series of bad or improbable beats. Usually results in losing all of your money and then some. Good gamblers avoid this at all costs, even if it means going home earlier than expected.

 

They keep running into each other, after Han wins the _Falcon._

Not over a sabacc table again, thankfully. Not that he’d ever admit it, even to himself, but Han’s not sure he’s up for a rematch yet. Especially when he gets back to the _Falcon_ , runs his hand over her bulkheads, sits in the pilots’ seat that feels like it was made just for him.

His ship. His, fair and square.

Well…mostly fair and square.

He’s not sure he’d be able to stop himself from putting her up as a bet again — winning her again, wiping that smirk off Lando’s face again, that would be sweet. But he’s still not exactly sure how he pulled it off the first time, except for throwing Lando off with that little trick over his extra card. He won’t have that element of surprise a second time. And as much as he tells himself that it didn’t matter, that he’s a better card player than some jumped-up dandy like _Captain Lando Calrissian_ …he’s still not sure enough to test that theory.

 

#

 

They run into each other at the blob races on Umgul.

Lando grins at down at him from a duchess’s box, seats that cost more than a year’s wages for everyone else in the stadium. Han rolls his eyes at Lando, flips him off. The gesture is pure Corellian slumrat, but the meaning translates beautifully into plenty of languages, as Han knows full well by now. He watches Lando laugh at him, head thrown back in what looks like genuine delight.

Of course, Han gets an invite up to the box seats. Of course, he accepts it. No need to stay down in the cheap seats, clutching his betting chips, looking like a greenhorn. Even though, a little voice is whispering in the back of his mind, that he’s in way over his head on the bets, has completely miscalculated the stats, and is hundreds of credits in the hole, at this point in the day.

He’ll get back up, he always does.

“Han!” Lando says, drawling out the long _a_ and grinning at Han’s wince. “How’s my lady doing? You treating her better than you’re treating yourself, I hope?”

Lando’s gaze flicks over Han’s clothes (stained, a little ragged…okay, it had been a while since he _hadn’t_ been in over his head, what about it). Lando, of course, looks like he stepped out of a fashion still-holo. His suit is muted red with bronze slashes of color showing through at the sleeves. No cape, today, just sleek, pressed lines of fabric, the trousers so tight Han’s not sure how he’s planning on sitting down, the suit jacket cropped at his waist with long tails in the back.

The outfit shouldn’t look so good on anyone, it’s completely unfair.

Han slouches, looks at Lando from beneath his lashes, “I treat _my_ lady just right,” he drawls. “And as for myself, well,” he shrugs. “Fancy’s all right for some, but I do fine without all the…” He waves a hand at Lando’s outfit, then indicates himself. “I mean, with what I’m working with, it’d be a shame to divert attention away from _this_ , right?”  

“They do say clothes make the man,” Lando says.

“People who say that have something that needs to be _made_ ,” Han says. “I’m the real deal, _baby._ ”

They glare at each other for a moment, but without real anger. Lando’s the first one to break off the eye contact.

He laughs again, then claps Han on the back. “Let me introduce you to the Duchess,” he says.

And Han’s surprised to find, after a round of introductions, that he’s right in the middle of Lando’s latest scam (something needlessly complicated about fixing his rival’s blob’s race and the Duchess’s insurance policy?)…and that he’s actually having a good time.

They part ways after that with Han considerably more on the upswing, financially…but he definitely isn’t going back to Umgul any time soon. Or ever.

“ _Do you try to leave every place we go with a price on your head, or is it really an accident?”_ Chewie demands as they just barely make it into hyperspace, the Duchess wailing something about her jewels over the comm.

“It’s a _gift_ , Chewie,” Han says, eyes on the controls, sweat running down his face, grinning. “Not my fault you don’t appreciate it.”

 

#

 

They run into each other at Canto Bight, at the bar.

This time, it’s Han who’s flush with the proceeds of a smuggling run gone very, very right, and he sends Lando a drink, winks at him as he watches the server droid explain where the brightly-colored, highly alcoholic, and faintly sparkling concoction came from.

“L _ahn_ -do,” Han says, sidling up next to him, lingering over the mispronunciation. “Nice trick you pulled on me at Umgul, leaving me holding the bag like that.”

“And yet, here you are,” Lando says, ignoring the attempt at needling him. Instead, he toasts Han with the ridiculous drink. “Looks like it worked out fine for you after all.”

Han’s actually invested in some clothes that could pass for fashionable, here at the casino. He doesn’t want to get kicked out _right_ away. He likes the forest green tunic, the bantha-hide jacket, tight, patterned trousers of an even darker, almost black, green.

Lando scans him up and down and smiles, slow.

“Clothes make the man,” Han says.

“Oh, yeah?” Lando says, raising an eyebrow. “Thought you were the real deal?”

“Yeah, I am,” Han says. “But, you know, no harm in looking good, right?”

“No harm at all, baby,” Lando says, watching Han bristle at it. “You know how to play _Csosn'ehah_?” Lando shapes the word elegantly. “New, something out of the Unknown Regions. Needs a team of two. Up for it?”        

“I think you just need a buy-in that you can’t afford right now,” Han says. Lando hadn’t even had a drink in front of him before Han sent him one, and the hem of this cape looks a little unraveled.

“Then it’s my luck you showed up, right in my time of need, isn’t it?” Lando says, and steers him over to the table. “You’ll pick it up quick, I know it.”      

Han picks it up, all right, but it’s nowhere near _quick_ . They lose almost a thousand credits to the other high-rollers, and Han starts to have visions of Chewie _actually_ pulling his arms off, for real this time. Finally, they end up back on top though some quick thinking…and a tiny bit of cheating.

Just a little bit.

Okay, more than a little. A lot of cheating.

“You can’t cheat when they can see in the infrared spectrum and you can’t!” Lando says, as they run across the beach, dodging blaster bolts.

Han has credit chips spilling out of his pockets and he’s gasping with laughter. “Can and did!” he yells. “Your fault for pushing me into it!”

“ _I’ll never understand human mating rituals_ ,” Chewie says, as they close up the Falcon’s ramp. Someone outside is pounding on it, hard enough to dent the metal.

“Hey, this is not—“ Han says, then considers Lando, who’s leaning against the wall, breathless and grinning. “You shut up,” he grumbles, instead, shaking his finger at the Wookie, who snickers at him.

“What did he say?” Lando asks.

“He wants to know where your ship is, so we can get you out of _ours_ as soon as possible,” Han growls.

  


#

  


They run into each other on the _Tinta Rainbow_.  

“Seems like we always meet when one of us is up and the other’s down,” Lando says, casually sliding into the seat on the observation deck next to Han, as he considers the _Rainbow’s_ vista out into hyperspace. The _Rainbow_ ’s nice enough, but he’ll be glad when Chewie picks him up at their destination in the _Falcon._

It’s clear what Lando means. Han knows he’s looking rough, old clothes, dark circles under his eyes. He was supposed to be on the _Rainbow_ to meet up with some art forgers, but they’d stood him up, and now he’s out the cost of the passage. Not to mention the fuel they’ll burn getting back. Meanwhile, Lando’s as sleek as the first time Han had seen him, clothes pressed, back straight, eyes bright. Just pulled something dangerous and expensive, no doubt.

 _“_ I’m never down, _baby,_ ” Han says anyway. “Only…lacking opportunity.”

He’s not even surprised to see Lando, this time. He’s started to get an idea of where this is going to end up, and he’s kind of looking forward to it. He doesn’t plan on telling Chewie, though, the Wookie’s smug enough as it is. And he’ll know anyway.

“You’re telling me you can’t find an angle on a _luxury liner_?” Lando says, brushing an imaginary speck off of his immaculate collar. “You’re too new to the game to be slipping already.”

Han snorts. “I could run ten scams in the time it would take you to _find an angle_ , come on.”

“Try me,” Lando says.

And that’s how Han ends the _Rainbow’s_ weeklong passage as the sickly heir to the Alderaanian throne, Lando as his long-suffering minder.

“I want to say again, sir, how _inspirational_ his Highness has been to all of us here on the _Rainbow,_ ” the Captain says, shaking Lando’s hand fervently. “He’s just—“ The Captain’s voice goes thick for a moment, and she chokes out. “He’s… _so brave._ ”

“I know, I know,” Lando says, pulling out a monogrammed handkerchief and offering it to her. “Now, now, there, ma’am, dry your tears. It would break his heart to see a beautiful woman like yourself cry. I know it’s breaking mine…”

From within his pile of blankets, Han rolls his eyes. They might not be making as much money on this  as the art forgery would have netted, but at least they’re getting their tickets comped. And probably getting a price on their heads on Alderaan, at the same time. Han grins to himself. From what he’s heard, it’s a boring, self-righteous kind of place anyway. Good.

 

#

 

They run into each other in a no-name, shithole cantina on Atzerri.

It’s pouring down rain and they both look at each other wearily across the bar. Han’s debating if he can bring himself to spend the two credits on whatever the house swill is here or if he’s just going to head back to the _Falcon_ and sulk instead.

“You’ve got this all wrong,” Lando says, finally, joining Han. “One of us is supposed to be _up_ when we meet like this.”

Han shrugs.

“You’ve still got her, though?” Lando says.

“ _Of course_ I do,” Han says.

There’s a long pause.

“So, can I hitch a ride, then?” Lando says. Smooth as always, but with a little hint of a plea in his voice.

Han laughs. “What happened to _your_ ship?”

“Long story,” Lando says, managing a grin. “Can’t tell it in public.”

“Fine,” Han says. Then, smirking: “But you’re gonna owe me.”

Lando sighs theatrically. “After everything I’ve done for you.”

Chewie growls with unstoppable laughter when the two of them arrive back at the Falcon, bedraggled and soaking wet.

“ _Shut up, mange-carrier,”_ Han says in his limited Shryiiwook.

“ _Mating rituals,_ ” Chewie snorts. “ _I thought a new forest would grow before this happened. Or I would die of old age. And we live a very long time._ ”

“Is he laughing at us?” Lando says, raising an eyebrow at the Wookie.

“He’s asking for coordinates and then he’s _going to the damn cockpit_ ,” Han grits out.

Chewie huffs out more laughter and leaves. “ _Your accent is still terrible,”_ he calls when he’s out of sight.

Han sighs. “Where’re you headed, anyway?”

“You got a line on something? I’m free.”

Han narrows his eyes at Lando, who smirks at him.

“Maybe,” Han says. “Kind of a long trip.”

“Baby, I’ve got nothing but time,” Lando says.

Han gives Chewie the go-ahead to make their way to Nar Shadaa. Not the most fun job they’ve ever contemplated, but potentially one of the most lucrative.

“Look who’s in the big leagues now,” Lando drawls, when the _Falcon’_ s in hyperspace. He’s sitting—slouching, really— at the table, shuffling a static sabacc deck, just printed flimsi, not proper shifter cards. Similar to the variant they played when Han won the _Falcon._ If not the exact same deck, even. “Thought a, uh, new forest would grow before I saw you two at Nar Shaddaa.”

“You understand Shryiiwook,” Han says, slowly.

Lando laughs so hard he has to wipe tears out of his eyes.

“This whole time?” Han says. “He just says whatever kraytspit comes to mind, you know—“

“Yeah, I know,” Lando grins. “It was worth waiting to tell you, for the look on your face, though.”

Han narrows his eyes at Lando, feeling like he has to do something to regain the upper hand here. Lando’s sprawling in the chair like this is _his_ ship again, _laughing_ at him.

 _Mating rituals,_ he thinks, ruefully. Chewie’s going to be insufferable after this.

“You want to play?” Han says, nodding at the cards, before he can think better of it. “Or are you just showing off?”

“Can’t it be both?” Lando says. He shuffles again, his fingers dancing over the cards too quickly for Han to make sure he’s not palming any of them. “Stakes?”

“I’m broke,” Han admits. “And I know you are, too.” And before Lando can propose putting up the _Falcon_ again, Han grins as a plan takes shape. “They say clothes make the man. Wanna bet on it?”

Lando raises his eyebrows. “Strip sabacc? Well, I suppose this _is_ your turf…you can call the stakes.”

“Yeah, and I wanna see those cards before we start,” Han says, lunging over the table and grabbing them.

 

#

 

They play like the _Falcon_ _is_ in the pot, even though Han knows she’s not. They’re deadly serious, faces blanker than they’d be in a room full of high-rollers. (Han makes Lando lose the cape before the game officially begins, on the grounds that they should start on an even field.) It takes a long time for them both to lose their shirts, but trousers follow soon afterward.

Lando steps out of his to reveal that he doesn’t wear anything underneath.

Han’s mouth goes dry, and he raises an eyebrow at the other man. “Really?” he manages.

“Too restrictive,” Lando says, sinking back into his seat. “And this way there’s no chance of me forgetting them somewhere…inconvenient.”

They both still have their boots on. Han swallows, looks at his cards, tries to concentrate. Straight Sabacc, positive, all one suit. He hasn’t had such a good hand since he played for the _Falcon._

 _“_ All in,” he says, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

“Boots _and_ briefs?” Lando says. “Are you sure you wanna do that?”

“You know it,” Han says. “Baby.”

And it’s a relief that his hand is so good, because he’s too hard to hide his erection at this point. The second he stands up, it’s going to be over for him.

“All right,” Lando says.

He lays his cards down.

Han stares.

“This is called the _Idiot’s Array,_ Han,” Lando says, as if explaining it to a student, smirking. “Do you have something that can beat this? Because, and I miiiight be mistaken…I don’t think anything can.”

“You—You… _cheat_!”

“Does it look like I’m hiding anything?” Lando spreads his arms wide, stands up, turns around. He’s only wearing his boots. Han takes in the corded muscles of his arms and his back, the short, dark hair on his chest. His cock, half-hard, long and thick. He’s strong, a little taller than Han, but not by much. Han’s heart speeds up and he’s suddenly, painfully aware of what it’s going to be like to be naked in front of Lando. Having lost, when he expected to be the one…he tries and fails not to think of the phrase _on top_.

Lando’s dark eyes are glittering as he stares down at Han. “Now, come on. Show me what you got.”

Han grits his teeth and flips his cards over.

“Aw, not bad, not bad,” Lando says. “But not quite good enough.”

“I still think you cheated,” Han says. _Pure Sabacc, all one suit._ _What a waste._

“Han, I am a guest on…this ship,” Lando says, easily. Not _your ship._ “I would never.” He lays his hand on his heart with mock-seriousness. His fingers are elegant and deft. It's easy to imagine what else he can do, with hands like that. And Han hates how much he’s imagining all of them right now. “But I am going to have to insist on my winnings.”

Lando’s smile is genuine, infused with the energy borne of _winning_ , something that Han knows all too well. The joy of a truly lucky hand at just the right time. There’s a sharp edge to it, this time, too. A challenge. A dare. _Ante up._

Han can play this game, too, he decides. There’s still a chance he could win. He stands up, meets Lando’s eyes, grins. He _knows_ what he looks like when he grins like that. He looks _good_. And there are plenty of people who’d agree. He ducks his head a little for good measure, as if to say, _who, me?_ The mock-innocent look: one of his oldest tricks, and it works. 

Without looking away, he takes off his boots, first one, then the other. Then his briefs. He places them with great ceremony, in the middle of the table. He quirks an eyebrow and shrugs at Lando, who’s staring at him, glassy-eyed. “Well, nice playing with you, as—“

“Tell me you kept the bedroom intact,” Lando says. His voice is a low rumble, and Han shivers.

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice,” Han says, trying to sound dismissive. It comes out breathy.

 

#

 

Han usually likes to pretend that he doesn’t like kissing. Too intimate, he says. He’s a fuck-and-run kind of guy.

Right. He’s such a liar.

The two of them kiss like they’re betting. Serious, without tells, trying to one-up each other the entire time. Lando shoves Han up against the wall and Han shoves him back onto the bed. Lando’s elegant hands are strong as hell, probably leaving bruises on Han’s shoulder’s, his hips. He likes being thrown around like this, and it’s been a while since anyone did it with quite this much finesse. They grind their hips together and Han chokes back a moan.

Lando grins at him. “Just us here, baby, you don’t have to be quiet.”

“Don’t _call_ me that,” Han gasps.

“Oh, come on,” Lando says, stroking down Han’s chest lazily, pinching a nipple hard enough to hurt. “You like it.”

Han slaps Lando’s hand away, then bites Lando’s shoulder, because he does kind of like the endearment and will never admit it. And he also likes hating it.

“I’ll tell you what I don’t like, I don’t like all this _talking_ —“ Han says, and cuts himself off with a gasp as Lando starts stroking his cock, his hands slick with the oil that Han keeps under the bed. When had he grabbed that?

“This is why I’m better than you at gambling,” Lando says in his ear, taking the opportunity to nip at it. “Because I know how to _wait…”_

“You’re not _better_ than me, you got _lucky—“_ Han has to stop again, drop his head onto Lando’s chest, panting as he bucks his hips, thrusts into the other man’s fist, the pressure of Lando’s grip. “ _Fuck,”_ he grits out.

“What’s that about not being better than you?” Lando says.

“At cards…” Han gasps. “I meant at cards.”

“That’s been settled, you wanna ante up with this too?” Lando thrusts his own hips forward and their cocks slide together.

Oh, right. He should probably pay back the favor. But he’s too busy coming into Lando’s clenched fist, shaking, gasping, as Lando grins at him the whole time.

“ _Kriffing_ hells,” Han says, when he can talk again.

Lando quirks an eyebrow at him. “You’re not done, are you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Han says, and slides down Lando’s body — concentrating on giving the _best_ blowjob he’s ever given. _Fuck_ being the best at cards. This one, he really wants to win.

By the sounds Lando’s making, Han’s succeeding. He goes after it harder, hollowing his cheeks, pressing his tongue up, stroking with his other hand…

“Han—“ Lando says, warningly, raggedly, tugging on his hair. He thinks I’m going to _stop_? Han thinks, with satisfaction at being about to prove him wrong. He swallows again and almost chokes, and at the same moment, Lando grabs him hard by the back of the neck and comes into his mouth.

It’s a few minutes before Han can speak, slumped to the end of the bed, wiping his streaming eyes. It’s the same for Lando, stretched out on the bed, panting.

“I’m still the best at cards,” Lando says, finally.

Han laughs. “Whatever you gotta tell yourself, baby.”

 

 


End file.
